Chapter 135 Heart's Palpitation (Part 2)
"Jack, got any more questions?" she asked.
He blinked, craving a cigarette. He grabbed one from the dashboard, but with one hand on the wheel and the other fumbling with the lighter, he couldn't get it to light.
She leaned forward slightly, her pale hand brushing against his as she took the lighter. "Here, let me."
He let go, letting her light the cigarette for him. As she handed the lighter back and started to sit back, he clamped the cigarette between his teeth and yanked her shoulder, pulling her onto his lap. Her short hair brushed against his stomach, releasing a unique scent that was intoxicating.
He had been thinking about the scar on her body ever since she left two nights ago.
She lay there, unsure of his intentions, only feeling the anger in his breath.
She stayed still, waiting for his anger to subside.
This wasn't the first time she'd experienced his rage; she was somewhat used to it.
He drove with one hand, the other running through her hair, his mind flashing back to the three months with the long-haired woman by his side.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that woman wasn't like Emily.
Not at all.
Suddenly, the car stopped.
Alison was still on his lap, unable to see outside, not knowing where he had taken her.
The car was eerily quiet, save for their breathing.
He opened the door, flicking the cigarette butt out the window in a graceful arc that felt like mockery. He had messed up again.
He grabbed her short hair, making her sit up in pain, then got out and opened her door, shouting, "Come with me!"
He dragged her along with surprising strength, causing sharp pain in her wrist.
It really hurt.
After a few steps, Alison realized where they were—his apartment building's underground parking lot.
He walked so fast that she stumbled, struggling to keep up as they headed toward the elevator.
Everything here was familiar, yet it always made her feel humiliated.
He walked on, oblivious to her, occasionally grabbing her to keep her from falling. She might have thought she was being mugged if not for that.
The silence around them was filled with his seething anger, seemingly endless.
Thankfully, the elevator was empty.
She stood quietly beside him, watching the numbers rise, secretly hoping the elevator would stop.
If it did, maybe she wouldn't have to enter that apartment that had once humiliated her.
Because she knew better than anyone that stepping into that apartment tonight would mean endless humiliation.
He was like a demon, completely unhinged.
Once out of the elevator, he continued to drag her through the hallway.
The cactus by the door came into view, a bud emerging among the sharp spines, though the flower hadn't bloomed yet.
But flowers always bloom, and then they wither.
Life is like that, with moments of beauty and pain.
Why does happiness, like a blooming flower, always appear briefly and then vanish?
The best times always pass the quickest, impossible to hold onto.
He kicked the door open with a loud bang, startling her.
He dragged her to the center of the living room, the door slamming shut behind them, the sound like a hammer to her heart.
He stood on the carpet, right in front of her, his voice cold. "Alison, take off your clothes."
Her vision blurred, his eyebrows, eyes, lips, all becoming unclear.
He wanted her to strip in front of him. She held back tears, her previously cried-out eyes now even more swollen and painful.
She raised her hand, not to her clothes, but to gently touch his face.
Her fingers softly traced his cheek. She had long fallen for him, for his gentleness, his dominance, his past kindness...
But he always made her feel humiliated.
In a soft voice, as if from far away, she pleaded, "Jack, can I not?"
Her eyes were full of pleading, but it was like looking through a fog, unable to see his true feelings.
"Take them off." His voice remained cold, thinking of Aidan's concern for her that afternoon, making his anger flare.
He turned away from her hand on his face, not wanting to be swayed by her gentleness, not wanting to soften.
He had to see if she had that scar on her chest because he was increasingly convinced the woman who had been with him for three months wasn't Emily.
If she stripped and he saw the scar, the truth would be clear.
His intense gaze was on her, his heart aching. Tonight, he had to find out who she really was.
But she wouldn't strip, the humiliation too much to bear.
"Need me to help you?" He stared at her, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it, and blowing smoke at her, making her look like a hazy fairy, ethereal and unreal.
He waited for her to be completely exposed.
"No... please..." she whispered, her voice weak.
She kept her eyes on his, not wanting to back down, but feeling incredibly sad.
Jack took another drag, the smoke making her cough. She covered her mouth, coughing repeatedly.
"Take them off." He turned elegantly, walking to the couch and sitting comfortably, watching her stand in the center, waiting.
"Why?" She knew his intent but tried to stay calm, pretending ignorance.
He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "You know why."
"I don't, I really don't. Tell me, why are you doing this?" She became stubborn, not wanting to strip in front of him, the humiliation driving her mad.